Sunbeams in the Shade
by badrefrigerator
Summary: There are some, when things fail, that flee. Some that burn. Some that weep, some that harden, some that flourish. Draco Malfoy is an anomaly and Harry Potter is broken, but there is not a single sunbeam, no matter how small, that is afraid of the shade.
1. Smoke on the Horizon

**a/n:** Hello everyone! I was in the mood for some angst and drama and adventure and one of my friends and I were just fooling around with some 'what if's - and then this little plot bunny popped out and I just had to write it. It's been a long time coming since I got up the nerve to post it but hopefully this will go somewhere. It's like no other drarry I've ever written, so there's that. Hope you enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter One:** Smoke on the Horizon

Smoke gathered in thick clouds around the base of the burning building, clumping together and then streaming upwards as it followed the flames. There was a heavy silence around the entire scene, broken only by the crackle of fire consuming wood and then -

"_Fuck_," came a loud voice and two men stumbled out of the crumbling doorway, both coughing and falling against each other. One of them, tall with brown hair and a dark complexion, threw a hand up and clenched his fingers as if he were holding something in them - and then his expression tightened and he turned away from the fire, glancing over at the other man who was still coughing. "All right there, Harry? Didn't get you, did it?"

"Water," croaked out the other man, who - as he straightened and held out an arm, appeared just as tall, though his dark, unruly black hair might have added an inch or so. The fire had singed the edges and tears streamed from his eyes, but other than day-old bruises, he seemed fine. "Dammit, Fitz, _water_."

Miles Fitzgerald rolled his eyes, fumbled around on his person for a second, and then tossed a canteen that the second man caught with years old Seeker skills. "What do you think started it?" he asked, turning to examine the fire eating away at the building they'd previously been sheltered in. Behind him came the sounds of heavy slurping and then a brief sound of relief before -

"Beats me. Think a Squad might have gotten wind of us?"

"They don't have those any more," Fitz said, a scowl crossing his face as he glanced back at Harry. "Not enough manpower. Everyone knows that."

Harry shrugged, expression far too casual for a man almost burned alive. "Didn't hear any planes fly overhead, did you?"

Reluctantly: "No."

"Squads are the only Muggles brave enough to get close enough to us."

"Maybe they've gotten more daring. They want us dead, Harry, and they don't need to be in a Squad to do that."

"Squads make the most sense," insisted Harry, although he didn't look too invested in his argument. More tired than anything else. Weary. As if this same argument had happened a thousand times before. "Maybe they've been building it back up. It's been four years since the war started, Fitz. The other side wants it to end just as badly as we do."

There was a moment of silence and Harry had finally turned away, reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck - and so almost missed it entirely when Fitz muttered, "Not quite as badly, trust me."

Another pause as Harry chose to ignore this and kept walking and then finally he glanced back at the other man, his fingers twitching just as Fitz's hand a moment ago as though searching for something that should have been there. "Coming?"

Fitz sighed, thrust his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, and finally looked away from the burning building. "All our stuff is in there, you know."

Harry made a face. "Stuff we can steal. Not worth going back in there."

"I'd finally gotten Falco Aesalon," said Fitz gloomily, falling into step next to Harry as they walked. "Do you know how fucking long it took me to find him? And now look - I gotta spend another six weeks eating squashed chocolate frogs just to build up half of what I had before. Fucking _hate_ starting over on my collection."

Harry stifled a smile, knowing just how infuriated his companion got when someone made fun of his Chocolate Frog card collection - which had, at one point, gotten up to a grand total of two hundred and seventy-two before they'd had to leave it all behind in a hurry. That had been a particularly long night, with nothing but complaints from Fitz's side and nothing but impatient sighs from Harry's. They approached a pile of rubble now as the smell of smoke finally lessened, and Harry jumped up on a broken bench, wobbling slightly before easily walking across without so much as bothering to throw his arms out.

His half-smile disappeared as he glanced sideways at the brooding man walking on the ground beside him, his famous green eyes flickering across the hunched shoulders and dark face. It wasn't normal for anyone to get that upset over a damn card collection - but then, everyone had their special something these days. That one little vice, that one odd obsession that kept them sane throughout all of - _this._

Harry stepped lightly off the bench on the ground again, hand automatically going into his pocket and feeling the comforting outline of his ever-constant cigarettes in his pocket.

Smoking. Ironic, consider the billows of smoke still pouring out of the dilapidated shelter that had held them for a grand total of nine days. Still, he had never claimed to be perfect, never claimed to give a rat's ass about his health and so why not? Smoking was better than drinking. Smoking was better than finally looking around at the shit world they lived in and seeing the despair and the horror and the pain that permeated every street corner, every broken building.

"Leave or get supplies first?" asked Fitz, breaking Harry's thoughts and looking slightly less moody as he eyed first their surroundings and then Harry. His dark eyes were thoughtful, curious. Waiting on Harry's reply.

When had Harry become the leader in this two-person group? He hadn't wanted that. He never wanted it, yet somehow it always got thrust upon him.

He pressed his lips together, his own shoulders hunching just as Fitz's had earlier, and then turned, scanning the smoke clouding the sky in the distance, the sound of screams echoing just a few blocks away, a gunshot to their right and then shattering glass. It was just like every other town in England, just like every other city in the world, yet this one felt particularly brutal.

He turned back to Fitz. "Supplies are everywhere. Let's leave."

So they did.

* * *

"Okay, here's one," came Fitz's voice from in front of him and Harry blinked tiredly, struggling to remain focused on the other man, "Would you rather be granted the answers to any three questions, or be granted the ability to resurrect one person?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "You make these too easy, mate. Resurrect. You?"

For a moment there was only the sound of their trainers against the ground and then Fitz allowed, "Resurrect. Okay, what about... bite the head off a live gopher or... thoroughly lick a cat's arse?"

"You are one sick bastard, Fitz, you know that?"

"It's a gift."

"Hell, I don't know," but when you spent every single day with someone for four solid months, you learned habits, you did things you wouldn't do otherwise - like contemplate answers to each 'Would You Rather' question as though your life depended on it. It was just another tool to keep them both sane and so Harry pursed his lips and walked along and then, "Lick a cat's arse. No blood that way. I get squeamish."

Fitz's grin was devilish as he looked back over his shoulder. "Are you implying you wouldn't be squeamish licking a cat's arse? Now who's the sick fuck, eh, Potter?"

"Can it, Fitz. The things I know about you and your kinky sex life could fill a Potions textbook. Is it my turn?"

The man snorted. "Barely even remember what sex is at this point. Haven't seen a bird in... Merlin, Potter, when was the last time we saw a girl? But anyway, you can try. We both know that your attempts at playing this game are complete shit."

"Even with competition at an all time low, you still couldn't get a bird," Harry told him, smirking, and then he frowned, thinking for a moment. "Have questionable integrity or no sense of humor?"

"Nope."

"Bullocks."

"Nice try."

"Sometimes I really hate you," called Harry because the distance between them had increased, Harry lagging further behind as he meandered along. They'd been walking for nearly five hours now, with only short breaks in between, and he watched hazily as Fitz peered into a shop with a calculating eye.

"This one looks promising," said Fitz, lifting his leg up in a habitual way and kicking out. The remaining glass left in the front window of the convenient shop gave way under his booted foot and Harry watched as the man stepped inside the window.

"There is a door, you know," he said after a moment and reached out, pulling on said door and walking in the normal way.

The pungent smell of rotten food and dead animal washed against his face and Harry's nose wrinkled automatically, a childish reaction to a horrible situation. Except - his face broke out in a grin and he called out cheerfully, "Smokes are still here!" He could almost hear Fitz rolling his eyes and smiled happily to himself, slipping several packs into his pockets and tucking one into the side of his boot. One never knew when one would run out of fags - as he had learned at several points over the past few years. A smokeless Harry Potter was a crabby Harry Potter, and he paused now, slipping one out and placing it between his lips, left hand scrabbling to get the lighter of his pocket. He inhaled deeply, feeling the familiar rush as the smoke filled his lungs, and then pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, exhaling in a cloud.

"That's disgusting," said a voice from behind him, and he turned idly to see Fitz with his hands full of preserved food.

"Yeah, well, at least you can't use the whole 'it costs a lot' bullshit," said Harry with a rogue grin, taking another inhale. He'd heard all the speeches about anti-smoking before the war, about health and money and of course the smell - and had found that the one good thing the war had brought was a distinct lack of morals. Of course, that was mostly because there were suddenly a distinct lack of _people_, but he usually tried to look on the bright side of things. "That was fast. Have you already got everything then?"

"If we find a place to stay in, we won't need a tent," said Fitz, moving up to the counter to spread out what he'd scrounged from the store. "Still - might be better to get a tent after what just happened. More discreet."

"Cans," commented Harry, peering over Fitz's shoulder. "Yummy cans of salt and shit. Can't wait."

"Shut the fuck up," said Fitz calmly, "and go smoke that damn thing away from me."

"Touchy," he said, but he turned away, shoving one of his hands in his pocket as he moved back out of the broken store and walked around the corner, standing there like a lean, dark shadow as he smoked away. It didn't matter if it blackened his lungs or not - because at this rate, he'd probably be dead before he hit twenty-five anyway. Might as well enjoyed it.

The surrounding area reeked, making his cigarette almost smell pleasant, and Harry idly scanned the nearby buildings as he puffed, taking in the broken glass, graffitied brick walls, and dilapidated cars laying at random areas on the street. So much destruction - and Harry felt his mood drop despite his fag, felt his shoulders hunch as the familiar burdens of death and _when will it end? _weigh down on his shoulders.

The end of the cigarette burned a bright, cheery red, mocking him.

Had it been a Squad? It couldn't have been anything else… Unless, hell, there was always the chance that something in the building had gone off on its own. Unlikely, though, as it had been years since there were stoves left on to burn unattended. Everything was a precious resource these days, and the idea that there had been a gas leak or something along those same lines was absurd. Did that mean they were being followed? And what if they were? They wouldn't be able to fight a Squad, not on their own, at least, which meant -

"Okay, I think I got it all," said Fitz from behind him, and when Harry turned halfway, he saw the dark-complected man carrying even more than before. "Got the last two backpacks too, hell of a break on that one. Take your half, and let's -"

He broke off at shouting from two blocks away and they both stared at each other for a moment, Harry's eyes growing wide and excited at the sound.

"No," said Fitz at once. "Please, Potter."

"But," said Harry.

"Not this time," he pleaded.

"But," he said again.

"God_dammit_," said Fitz, turning away and scowling magnificently off into the distance. "Just one time I'd like to keep going on when someone else is in trouble. One _fucking_ time!"

"It'll be really quick, I swear," said Harry, already itching to start moving as he heard another shout.

"Just go," sighed Fitz, and Harry was off, sprinting through the empty streets as he hunted for the makers of the noise - and he slowed to a jog as the noises grew louder, hesitating and feeling his right hand clench unconsciously around an invisible wand. But he didn't have a wand any more - no one had a wand any more, and instead his hand moved to his hip where his gun rested, strapped securely into a tight holster. He paused at a corner, pulling the gun out and removing the safety, and then, without even a moment to steel himself, rounded the corner, both hands around the base as he took in the scene laid out before him.

What he saw made him come up short, the gun coming up to his face as he stared in utter shock. "_Malfoy?"_

And it was. It was Draco fucking Malfoy, rolling around in the dirt with another man - and Harry watched, horrified and entranced, as a second man grabbed the back of Malfoy's ratty robes and jerked hard, hauling him up and then pushing him face first into the nearest wall. Malfoy fell into it, a choked noise coming from his mouth, and then stumbled away, holding his face as blood poured out of his nose. "_Cruc-" _he said, voice muffled against his hand, and Harry felt as though a splash of cold water had hit his face, moving forward just as a third man, who had been a bystander the entire time, moved forward with his arm pulled back and socked Malfoy in the stomach.

Malfoy crumpled forward with a groan, and Harry moved, throwing all caution to the wind and aiming the gun at the three men - but there was no gunshot, nor did he squeeze the trigger; rather, a wave of hot energy seemed to rippled through the air and the men in front of him all flew back, all except Malfoy who, laying on the ground, had somehow been passed over.

Several things happened in quick succession at that point.

First, Malfoy picked his head up off the concrete and said, "Potter?" in an astonished voice.

At nearly the same time, Fitz's voice came from behind Harry in complete exasperation with: "Fucking hell, Harry, _really_?"

And thirdly, and perhaps most importantly, all three men got to their feet at the same time and stared at Harry with a mixture of disgust, rage, and terror.

"He's a fuckin' wizard," said one.

"Get him," snarled the second.

"Wait!" and the third held up a warning hand, moving in front as a clear leader of the three. He stared at Harry with something like greed in his eyes, his bright red hair doing something to twist Harry's stomach painfully. "He's still got magic in 'em, don' he?"

"I thought tha' was wiped out by the Bug," sneered the first.

"Clearly not," said Fitz in a bored voice, moving out of the shadows to point something vaguely wand-shaped in their direction. "Now are you going to stick around to see just how much we can still do? Do you really want to test that?" An eyebrow quirked, and Harry had to admit that his nonchalant attitude was far more threatening than any other approach might have been.

The redhead eyed them both with a calculating gaze. "All the wands were destroyed."

Fitz smiled dangerously. "Then just what the hell am I pointing at you, do you wonder?"

The leader looked at Malfoy with a hard stare. "Malfoy, is it? What the fuck kind of name is Malfoy?"

"Hey," said Harry, moving to stand in front of Malfoy, the instinct overpowering to protect, to save, to sacrifice, even if it _was _Malfoy. There were so few of them left - and he wondered for a moment if Malfoy was the last Pureblood. Wouldn't that be something. The last of his kind. "Didn't you hear my friend here? Or would you like me to clarify things a little more?" He reached out his hand and felt a dark satisfaction from how they all flinched back.

Things had changed.

"Fuck you," sneered the redhead. "We'll find another one of you, simple as 'at. A dying breed, _wizards_."

"We said to _go_," shouted Fitz, and his voice made them all flinch a second time, his twig held out threateningly.

The three men looked at one another and then the redhead jerked his head and they all turned, struggling to look tough as they walked away - which was rather difficult, as one of them limped and another cradled his right arm.

Fitz slowly turned to look at Harry, his expression entirely unamused - and opened his mouth, about to say something when he suddenly looked around suspiciously and said, "Where's Malfoy?"

"I -" began Harry, and then angrily: "_Shit. _Come on, Fitz, let's go find the stupid bugger." He took off again, hearing the other man swear behind him, and only made it a block or so before they came upon the Slytherin limping down the street and gasping for air. "Malfoy!" said Harry, hurrying up. He made a frustrated growl and put on speed, coming in front of Malfoy and whirling to a stop in front of him. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

"Away from you," said Malfoy gruffly, struggling to find a way around him. He moved first to the right and then to the left - and then gave Harry a dark look as he mimicked each move Malfoy made - and turned, coming up short at the sight of Fitz. He turned back to Harry with a flat look. "What do you want from me?"

"You're injured," pointed out Harry lamely. He ignored Fitz's snort, narrowing his eyes. "What did those blokes want with you? And - what are you _doing_ here?"

"Same as you are, probably," said Malfoy, looking sullen at the reminder of his injuries. "And fuck if I know." He looked away, revealing a line of dark red welts up his pale neck. "They found out I'm a… was a wizard. Wanted their revenge, I suppose."

"Maybe it was the robes that clued them in," suggested Fitz helpfully. "Or you shouting spells all over the place. Just how well was that working out for you, if you don't mind me asking?"

Malfoy looked back at Harry with a dark look in his eyes. "Speaking of spells, what the hell was _that?"_

"What was what?" asked Harry uncomfortably, shifting from foot to foot.

"Potter," said Fitz in a warning voice.

Malfoy spoke in a tight voice: "Magic. You used magic."

"No, I didn't," protested Harry despite how utterly useless it was. "I just…. It was… the wind."

"Oh, Merlin," muttered Fitz, and that was it.

Malfoy spun around and would have probably flown at him, despite how injured he was, if not for Harry speaking up loudly at that moment with, "_Yes,_ yes, all right, it was magic. Sometimes I… still have uncontrolled spurts of it."

Malfoy slowly looked back at him, shadowed eyes wary. He looked too thin - he looked haunted, gaunt, wearing his torn robes with proud shoulders that attested to his aristocratic lineage. Above all, at that moment, he looked hungry, he looked _starving, _not for food but for something just beyond his grasp, and when he took a step towards Harry, Harry had to force himself not to move backwards. Showing weakness in front of any wild animal - which is what Malfoy truly looked like at that moment - was not wise. "You can still do it?" he asked hoarsely. "You're not fucking with me?"

"A second ago, you were insisting I had and now you won't believe me when I say I did," scoffed Harry, feeling edgy.

Malfoy raked shaking hands through his hair and paced edgily back and forth for a moment before coming to a stop in front of Harry, even closer this time. "How? Tell me how you did it."

"I don't know how it works," answered the man uncomfortably. His eyes flitted back to where Fitz still stood, something jolting in him at the tight, dark look gracing his features. He glanced back at Malfoy. "But... maybe... if you came with us - "

"Harry," said Fitz angrily, and Harry once more looked away from Malfoy's surprised face to his companion. "Can I speak to you for a moment? In private?"

He pressed his lips together and moved past Malfoy, wondering if the Slytherin would run for it - and then deciding that he wouldn't be able to anyway, not in his condition. They moved a bit off, the silence between them tense, and then Fitz abruptly came to a dead halt, his eyes flashing. "And what _exactly_ do you think you're doing? You can't just invite a _Malfoy_ to join us."

"He's all alone," said Harry, his own voice just as low, his stomach churning uneasily. "And he just got attacked. He looks like he can barely make it a day - and those men probably aren't far off. If we leave him -"

"He's a fucking _Malfoy,"_ repeated Fitz furiously. "They're bloody well built for this kind of environment! He's trying to manipulate you with those pathetic eyes -"

"I'm not going to be _manipulated_," said Harry, making a face. "He's not some powerful dark wizard, Fitz, he's got _nothing_. You saw him trying to use magic - you know he's got none, just like -"

"Just like the rest of us, yeah," said Fitz, and now he sounded cold, ice cold, brown eyes a hard steel. "I know what's it like, Potter, to have no fucking magic, you don't have to remind me. And I know that people can be just as dangerous without any. If you'll recall, we've been fighting an entire fucking war against people without magic, so please excuse me if that's not a good enough reason to trust him all of a sudden."

"He's alone," said Harry quietly. "You can't just expect me to leave him -"

"That's exactly what I expect you to do!" he said loudly. "Fuck, Potter, I _told _you not to go, didn't I? I knew this would happen, and I'm not going to become fucking friends with Draco Malfoy just because you think he's some weak little innocent. After all his family's done? I'm a Muggleborn, if you've forgotten - and if you're choosing him -"

"I'm not choosing _anyone_," said Harry, and he sounded exasperated, frustrated, dead tired. "You're the one that's being unreasonable, not him - and I never said he was innocent, but - "

"Enough," said Fitz, backing away. "I'm not sticking around to watch you get stabbed in the middle of the night by the pretentious prick. You're going to regret choosing him, just wait."

"Fitz, now, come on," said Harry, moving forward and reaching out a hand. "Don't - stop walking away, we can make some sort of -"

"Come find me if you change your mind," said Fitz in a tight voice and with a sardonic tip of two fingers, he turned, shoving his hands deep in his pockets and walking off, shoulders hunched.

Harry stood there for a moment, watching the man he'd traveled with for over four months now walk away - and felt something hot twist in his stomach, because what the hell was happening here? Was he really giving up his safe - his witty, his smart, resourceful companion for a _Malfoy_? But Fitz hadn't been attacked - he hadn't been alone and unguarded, and yeah, okay, maybe Malfoy's stupid pathetic eyes had done a little to soften Harry's attitude towards him but -

"Trouble in paradise?" came a sarcastic voice.

Harry turned, eyes narrowed. "_You,_" he snarled. "Don't you dare fucking ruin this. If you even think about doing _anything,_ you're out."

"Who says I want to be in?" retorted Malfoy haughtily. "I never asked for you to stick your neck out for me, Potter. I'm fine on my own. "

"Oh, yeah, that's obvious," said Harry, rolling his eyes and moving past Malfoy with a dark expression. "Maybe it was the bruises on your neck that clued me in first. Or hey, maybe it was the fact that you just got your arse handed to you on a silver platter by three Muggles. Yeah, that might be it."

"I'm not coming with you," said Malfoy hotly, and when Harry glanced over his shoulder, he saw that the blond hadn't moved an inch. He turned, and they stood there like that for a moment, a few yards in between them. "I'm not coming," he repeated. "I don't need you or anyone else to survive. I've gotten this far, haven't I?"

And how the hell _had _he gotten this far? Eying him now, Harry realised this was the first time in nearly five years that he'd seen Draco Malfoy, and just what had the other man been doing this entire time? He tried to squash his curiosity, failed, and settled instead for giving Malfoy a bored look. "Come or not, Malfoy, but I suspect your _friends _aren't too far off - and won't feel a bit scared coming back after you without me around. Good luck with the Cruciatus Curse, that was going real well for you earlier." And he turned once more, walking off.

Merlin, he needed a smoke.

But he would wait.

Any second now.

He had walked about half a block before there was a loud curse and a shouted, "Fuck you, Potter!" and then the sound of a sort of hobbling set of footsteps - and Harry finally pulled out a cigarette, smiling grimly to himself as he set it between his lips and used his lighter to set the end alight.

Now just what the hell had he gotten himself into?

* * *

**a/n:** so obviously this world is a bit AU from the epilogue, but everything that happened in the books happened here as well - just... things got a little offtrack from the 'happily ever after'. I have a lot planned for this, so hopefully chapter two will be out sometime soon. Please review if you liked it! Also, the title was inspired by the last line of Queen Nightingale's 'Searching for Zen', so please give all the credit to her!

- C.


	2. After the Storm

**a/n: I know there have to be some questions going around at the moment about why the world's like it is and why Harry's alone and whatnot, and really, not a lot gets answered in this chapter, but soon, I promise, soon! Enjoy.**

* * *

**Chapter Two:** After the Storm**  
**

"Potter! Oi - _Potter_!" Loud footsteps and then Malfoy appeared at his side, looking winded for just the short amount he had run to catch up with Harry. A pained grimace crossed his face and then he schooled his expression into something Harry couldn't read, the tips of his ears a bright pink. "Where - where the _fuck_ are you going?"

"Supplies," said Harry, finishing off his cigarette and letting it fall to the ground. He slid his hands into his pockets and glanced sideways at Malfoy, his eyes skimming down the raggedy robes. "And maybe you should think about getting a new wardrobe. No offense or anything."

Malfoy looked away, lips tightening at the corner. "I don't want to."

"Okay," shrugged Harry, directing his attention back to the cobbled street they were walking down. "If that suits you. By the way - you have blood. All over your face."

There was a long pause as Malfoy scrubbed roughly at his face with the sleeve of his robes and then, stiffly: "You're not going to ask why?"

"It's your business, Malfoy, wear whatever you want." A short moment of silence and then: "But I just don't think it's very wise to let Muggles know what you are from sight alone, that's all."

"You mean what I used to be," Malfoy corrected in a low voice.

Harry coughed, and he wondered if he was ever going to get used to the idea of this man here walking around without magic. He'd always connected Malfoy to magic, ever since they'd met in Madam Malkin's store and Malfoy had spoke so arrogantly about Hogwarts - he'd always represented the elite purebloods, and now he was nothing. Somehow, Harry couldn't find it within himself to be happy about that. "Right, so, we need food… and shelter. That first. We can focus on everything else later."

"And then what?"

They looked at each other but Harry didn't slow and, despite his injuries, Malfoy didn't either. "What were you doing before… all that happened?" asked Harry, lifting his eyebrows.

Malfoy looked uncomfortable. "I was - er, trying not to get caught."

"Wow, great job."

"Shut it. They came up on me without warning, all right, I don't need any bullshit about it. What were _you_ doing?"

"Fitz and I…" Harry reached up, scratching the back of his neck. "We were… traveling together."

Malfoy looked mildly interested. "Were you -"

"What?"

"Were you _together_?"

"Oh, come on," said Harry in disgust, turning away from Malfoy in the pretense of spotting another store they could ravage. "Why is that the first thing you think of? Besides, you think he would have left me so easily if we were a couple?"

"It's a rough world," said Malfoy, and Harry wondered if he'd been left by anyone recently. And then he inexplicably smirked. "Maybe you weren't as good in bed as you thought."

"Fuck you," said Harry, but there was no venom in it because, really, he almost preferred smirking Malfoy to the Malfoy of before, cowering on the ground and screaming Unforgivables that didn't work. This was at least a Malfoy he remembered how to act around, a Malfoy that was somewhat predictable. They drifted apart once inside the store, both moving in their own familiar ways to get supplies from the ravaged store - and Harry couldn't help feeling uncomfortable, thinking of how only an hour or so previously he'd been doing this with Fitz.

He tried to ignore that.

He'd gotten surprisingly good at ignoring certain segments of his life at this point. Pathetically good, really.

It only took five minutes for them to meet up again and Harry awkwardly looked down into Draco's arms, studying his goods before glancing down into his own clutches.

They both had the same things.

"Well," said Malfoy and then frowned. "Well, stop just standing there. Let's bloody move."

"Right," said Harry, and he turned, dropping all his things on the counter and then hopping over it with ease, hunting until he found two paper sacks. He handed one to Malfoy and filled his with the supplies he'd garnered before climbing back over and then they were back on the streets, both simply standing there without a clue as to which way to go.

"Did you not have any other supplies before you were attacked?" Harry finally thought to ask and from the way Malfoy colored again it was obvious he wished he'd thought of it first. "All of ours were... I dropped what I was holding when I heard you shout. Not sure where that store is now."

"Fucking Gryffindor," muttered Malfoy, not sounding spiteful but rather exasperated and then he sighed. "Yeah. I have other supplies. Left them..." He moved forward with hunched shoulders, glancing first up the street and then down the other - and then peered at a sign, shifting the paper sack he was holding from one arm to the other. "Back the way we just came."

"Are they important?"

Malfoy shrugged awkwardly and it was a sign of how the times had changed that he didn't immediately jump to the defense of his belongings. For a moment Harry had the odd sensation of seeing an eleven year old blond boy standing before him in pristine, top-of-the-line robes wavering on top of this older, rougher version - and then he blinked and it was just Malfoy again, defeated and dirtied and disparaging. "Had a few blankets. Personal things. Backpack and - a tent."

"A _tent_?" asked Harry with piqued interest despite himself. "Well who the hell knows when we might stumble on one of those again. I say - I mean - if you can find the way back -"

Malfoy's shoulders looked tense. "I can."

"Then lead the way."

Malfoy hesitated for a moment, shifted his bag again in his arms, and then began moving back where they'd originated, his steps the only sound in the world for a moment before Harry wordlessly began to follow him.

And then suddenly Harry was staring at Malfoy's back and realizing that this was it; after they went a certain distance, he would probably never be able to find Fitz ever again. Alone with Draco Malfoy for Merlin only knew how long. What the hell had Harry just done? Sacrificed his only solid friendship for some prick he barely knew any more? Hadn't known in the first place, really - had hated all his life? What kind of twisted logic was that?

Except maybe it wasn't too late to find Fitz. Maybe they'd run into him and he would have changed his mind about being alone - he couldn't _really _want to leave Harry, that would be ridiculous. Who'd want to live alone in a world like this? It was -

"Are you in contact?" asked Malfoy in a low voice, barely lifting his head as he slowed to a shuffle to walk next to Harry. When Harry didn't respond, he made a noise and added reluctantly, "With the magical world? With... Have you heard anything lately?"

"No."

Malfoy huffed. "Well, why not? I mean, when was the last time you really talked to anyone involved?"

The answer came flatly: "Four months."

"Shit," muttered Malfoy.

He shouldn't ask. It didn't really matter. It didn't really matter because he didn't really care about Malfoy; he'd only saved him because it was what Harry did and he'd only allowed him to come along because - well, that he didn't know quite yet. But just because he had, didn't mean he had to ask. But he did anyway. "Why?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Malfoy frown. "No reason."

"Are you trying to find out about someone in particular?"

"Just... no."

"Your parents?" It was a wild guess but from Malfoy's jerking reaction, it was correct. "Ah. Well... No. I don't know anything." And goddamn Malfoy's sloping shoulders and downcast face because it made him add: "I'm... sorry. Look... me and Fitz... we weren't part of the Resistance. We stayed out of all that bullshit."

"Bullshit," Malfoy repeated, snorting. "Isn't the mudblood the one in charge of that?"

Harry glanced at him again, coldly this time. "If you know about that, then why didn't you find out about your parents while you were at it? Afraid they're _dead_, Malfoy?"

"Ah," said Malfoy with a hard smile. "Don't like bringing up old friendships, I see. There goes my next topic pick. How do you feel about Quidditch teams?"

Harry looked away and purposely slowed further, letting Malfoy take the lead again - letting Malfoy fall ahead because walking side by side felt too much like forcing opposite magnets to come together. The smell of smoke - everpresent in this twisted world of theirs - made his nose twitch for a cigarette but he held out, instead keeping his eyes straight ahead and his shoulders flat. Had to make the little pleasures stretch out, he did, in a world like this.

"Should be somewhere up here," said Malfoy after another few minutes in silent and then he seemed to recognize a familiar landmark and he looked around, pausing for a moment and letting out a low whistle. For a wild moment Harry thought he was going to be raided - Malfoy had been planning this the entire time, an attack from an old enemy, ready to capture Harry and sell him out to the Muggles - ready to throw him out the first chance he got, despite the fact that Harry had once again saved his life - or maybe that had been all an act as well - he was going to die at a wizard's hands after all these years -

And then a crup bounded out of a decrepit building and came running up to Malfoy, barking joyously and running around him several times with his forked tail wagging like mad.

Harry stared. "Do you have - a _dog_?"

"Are you completely blind?" asked Malfoy stiffly in return as he knelt and held out a hand to the eager animal, immediately sending the dog into a frantic licking at his fingers, another round of barking coming out and making Harry wince. "He's _clearly _a crup. Loyal to _wizards _only."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Fucking hell, Malfoy, no wonder you were attacked. Did they see you running around with a dog with a forked tail first or did you actually try shouting spells at the top of your lungs just for fun?"

Malfoy stood, glaring. "First of all, he's a _crup_, and don't you think they would have killed him if they had seen him, Potter?"

Harry stared at him for another long moment, unsure of what to say this, and then finally pressed his lips together and said instead, "What's his name then?"

"Salazar."

"Bloody -"

"_Shut it,_" said Malfoy through gritted teeth. "Now do you want me to go with you or not? The dog - _crup _stays."

It was like one long staring contest with Malfoy and then finally Harry gave in and looked away and when he next looked up, Malfoy had an unbearably smug look on his face and was walking towards the building Salazar had run out of, rummaging around in something with his back to Harry.

Salazar stared at Harry and then let out a low growl, his upper lip curling up as he stared at Harry.

"Good dog," said Harry pointlessly.

"Eloquent," commented Malfoy, standing with supplies in his arms and raised eyebrows. "Truly gifted."

Harry was sincerely regretting his decision to allow Malfoy into his company. "What exactly do you have? Was it really worth coming all the way back here?"

"Well, I certainly wasn't going to leave Salazar," said Malfoy and abruptly Harry realized Malfoy had been intending to come back all along - and just when the hell was he going to mention that? Why had Harry been the one to bring it up? "But as far as supplies - I have a tarp, four blankets, some waterproof... matches," he made a distasteful face, "three bottles of water, a single pot, and some... dog food. All in a pack, of course."

Harry was mildly impressed despite himself. "Been building that collection up for a long time then?"

"Like you wouldn't believe."

"So many fucking thieves."

"It's a shit life."

And then they both paused, eying each other suspiciously as though unable to believe they just agreed on something.

"What about the tent?" asked Harry.

Malfoy made a disgruntled face and for a moment Harry thought he'd actually lied about it - and what a pointless thing to lie about, at this point - and then Malfoy reached into a side pocket of his pack and pulled out... the smallest tent Harry had ever seen. Not a tent. A toy. Two pieces of tiny fabric sown together.

"What -" began Harry.

"I wasn't going to mention it," he interrupted. "But... you did magic. And - hell, I don't know why I've kept it for as long as I have, but I shrunk it down before... before the Bug and no one has been able to enlarge it since. Maybe..." he gave Harry a hopeful look but Harry was already shaking his head.

"I can't, Malfoy. I said I couldn't. It's barely controlled - random spurts of magic when I have adrenaline. Barely even then, really; today was a fluke."

Malfoy sighed. "Shit. Well. It's not like I haven't been existing without it for months so far, but. Would have been nice."

"Let's go find some place to make camp," Harry finally suggested and at Malfoy's short nod they started walking, Harry watching with mild surprise as Salazar immediately picked himself up and trotted in front of them, tail held high in the air as though purposely keeping his heritage in full view, just like Malfoy and his fucking robes.

Idiots, the pair of them.

The sound of the city around them were ominous at best - fighting far off, the crackle of fire in the distance (most likely uncontrolled), a few animal cries, and the sound of their own footsteps. Perhaps what was worse was the oppressive silence always waiting to fall whenever they stopped talking, smothering their ears and weighing down on their shoulders. What had once been a country filled to the brim with talking and laughing and cell phones buzzing and cars honking and televisions blaring was now... empty. Desolate.

Merlin, he missed Fitz. He missed the light banter they'd shared - the inside jokes, the immediate agreements, working together -

Now it was just him and Malfoy and Malfoy's bleeding dog, walking along in silence.

The distance between buildings was growing at this point and Harry surveyed the scenery with a narrowed eye before glancing at the sun and then over at Malfoy's wearied features. They were going to have to make camp soon - and unfortunately for Harry, it looked as though he was going to be just as much of a leader in this group as he had been in every one so far. "That tree," he finally said, nodding at one not too far off. "Look good to you?"

"Good as anything else," muttered Malfoy.

Harry felt a tired smirk curl one half of his mouth. While seeing Malfoy without magic was disconcerting and even almost sorrowful, seeing Malfoy forced into nature's own was actually rather enjoyable.

And then - "I wasn't trying to be a git, before. I was just trying to... make conversation," said Malfoy unwillingly, not looking in Harry's direction. "I haven't traveled with another wizard in so long, I just thought... Maybe there was something new you'd heard. Whatever."

Harry allowed a few more meters to pass by in silence and then he sighed. "It was just a rumor we heard, that's it. Just a rumor, a few weeks back. About..."

Malfoy looked over. "Yes?"

"Don't get too excited," Harry warned. "But we met up with some goblins and Fitz used to work with one of them - they told us about a supposed cure being developed for magic. For the Bug, where... where it might bring it back."

Malfoy stopped. He stopped and stared and then he reached out and grabbed Harry's shirt, dragging him forward and right into his face and Harry dropped his paper sack, wincing at the sound of everything in it clanging together. "What the _fuck _are we doing just standing around here for then?"

"Malfoy -"

"NO," roared Malfoy and he shoved Harry away, turning to pace frantically. Salazar barked loudly at their feet but Malfoy didn't take notice and Harry didn't bother picking up his sack yet. "No, you have no fucking _idea _what it's been like these past three years - having _nothing_, fucking _nothing_ to rely on, stripped from everything - you," he sneered, turning around with accusatory eyes. "Able to throw out a hand and blow away three Muggles _just like that_. Why the hell should you be any different from the rest of us?"

"I'm not that different," protested Harry quietly, eyes burning serious. "It comes and goes, Malfoy, I swear - it's not like I have it all the time, that I can Summon whatever I want whenever I want. I barely have it and when I do, it wipes me out for days -"

"Don't fucking complain," spat Malfoy, looking furious and edgy and wild again. "Don't you dare fucking complain when the rest of us are left with complete _shit._ My entire life - gone because of those fucking Muggles and that fucking _disease_ -" he broke off, running a hand through his hair and leaving it looking wild. He was nothing like his former self, Harry was finally realizing. A complete animal. He should have felt scared - wary, at the very least, but he didn't, only more intrigued.

"Malfoy," he said. "Shit. I shouldn't have said anything, all right? Let's just make camp and go to sleep. We're both exhausted."

"Where is it?" asked Malfoy, his back to Harry now and his voice desperately raw. "Where did the goblins say the cure was?"

"They weren't that specific. Just some underground laboratory called 'Cura.' At the coast somewhere."

Now Malfoy turned slowly around again, looking steadier than before but haunted, as though something were eating him alive from the inside. "Can you Apparate?"

"Malfoy, _no_, I told you, my magic's barely there. Worse than when I was eleven, really, and completely out of control even if I did have the strength."

The blond looked off to the side, lips pulled taut, and then seemed to shake himself out of it. "Let's go make camp."

The silence that then fell felt edgy, and even as Harry picked up his bag and started walking again, Harry knew that Malfoy was plotting - knew it, welcomed it, because a plotting Malfoy was... well, he was familiar. Harry had spent all of sixth year with just that, obsessing over it, and now here it was in his path again, a reminder of the old days. And what very old days they were. It occurred to Harry, moving now to drop his pack and draw his measly blanket out of it, that Malfoy was one of the few people in the world that could reminisce with him.

What an odd, fucked-up thought.

"I used to have a House Elf," said Malfoy thoughtfully, more to himself than anything else. He had fixed up his own little area, consisting of a dark green blanket, a strange-looking throw pillow, and a dark square that Harry couldn't quite see from his angle. He was sitting on his blanket with his legs bent at the knee and his arms resting on his knees, dangling carelessly. Salazar had plopped himself down at the end of Malfoy's blanket and was curled up, silently watching Harry with dark eyes. "I used to have _multiple _House Elves. I don't think I ever washed a single dish in my entire life before the Bug."

Harry snorted. "Lucky you."

"So you did then?" asked Malfoy and hell if he didn't sound actually interested. "That's funny."

"What's funny about it?"

"I don't know. I guess I just grew up thinking you were just as pampered as myself - even more, I suppose. The Boy Who Lived," and Malfoy smiled dryly. "I used to think you were a fucking prince or something."

"Well, you were wrong. I was entirely the opposite, as a matter of fact."

"Rita Skeeter," began Malfoy and then shook his head as though he was unable to believe he were even talking about it, "mentioned something of that in her book. Do you remember that? The book she published about Du -" He stopped. Swallowed. Looked mightily pained and maybe that was when Harry wondered if he should forgive Draco Malfoy for being an incredible imbecile in his youth.

There was a brief silence and then Harry cleared his throat and said, "Mind if I light a fire?"

Malfoy looked at him sharply. "Are you going to use magic?"

"Er... no, I was planning on just using a lighter, actually."

"Oh," frowned Malfoy. "Oh. Fine." And with that being said, he laid down on his green blanket and rolled over, placing his back to Harry. Salazar huffed out a sigh.

It was short work to find a few loose branches from the tree and place them in a pile and light them on fire - and then Harry was sitting in its flickering light, staring at Draco Malfoy's back and wishing he could light a fire with magic. Wondering why the hell this had to happen to him - he had killed Voldemort, he had gotten the girl - he had thought he'd had it made and then the world had fallen to shit.

There were times - and why deny it? - when he had wished himself dead.

Especially after -

"Fucking hell, are you about to cry, Potter?" Malfoy had rolled back around and had pushed himself up on one elbow, staring at Harry with incredulity in his gaze. "What are you, a twelve year old girl?"

"I wasn't about to cry," said Harry.

"Right," he scoffed and sat up all the way. "Listen, remember showers?"

Harry blinked. "Er. I guess so?"

"Listen, I haven't had a shower in damn well nearly three years, Potter. _Three fucking years_ of not taking a shower. Of bloody lakes and buckets and wells and fucking freezing my arse off doing it all. And I had House Elves prior to this. I had literal creatures dedicated to making sure I was clean and happy and well-fed. And now, nothing. So don't you think I have a little bit more reason to cry than you?" he finished, sounding just as pompous and self-righteous as always.

Harry blinked some more and then barked out a laugh. "How is it possible that you haven't changed one single bit? Does nothing _faze _you, Malfoy?"

"Why should it?" he sniffed. "Eventually it'll go back to the way it was."

"Do you really believe so?"

"Of course."

"You must not know anyone dead," said Harry with a razor sharp grin and Malfoy immediately froze.

"Of course I fucking know someone dead," said Malfoy. "Have you looked where we are? Camping under a tree in _England._ Where it _rains_ all the _bloody _time. _Everyone_ I know is fucking dead."

Sometimes, Harry just couldn't seem to follow where Malfoy's thoughts connected. "How can things possibly go back -"

Malfoy huffed. "Can you not indulge me in one minor fantasy?"

"I suppose."

"Well, you're doing a really shitty job of it so far."

Harry shrugged. "I just don't see the point in pretending things are going to be normal again when it's clear nothing's ever going to get better."

"Aren't Gryffindors supposed to be the fucking optimistic ones?"

Harry shrugged again, eyes sliding from Malfoy to the fire. The air smelled of oncoming rain and he knew he should do the responsible thing and put a tarp up over them - but his bones sang of weariness and he couldn't be bothered to move at this point, rain be damned.

"Hungry?" asked Malfoy grudgingly after a moment, breaking the silence once more and looking as though he'd rather be doing anything else than offering Harry Potter food.

Harry's eyes flickered over to him. "Yeah."

Malfoy shifted, reaching for his pack, and then pulled out two bags, peering at them and then throwing one at Harry which he nimbly caught. A third bag came out of nowhere and Harry watched in amazement as Malfoy poured out a pile of dog food into a small bowl and laid it down for Salazar to devour. He was fucking feeding his dog before himself. What had the world come to?

And then Harry glanced down at his own bag and discovered a mixture of trail mix, which Malfoy had somehow procured. "I thought all the bags of trail mix went in that first rush," he commented, thinking back to the very beginning of the war, when everyone had made to hoard food as fast as they could. It had been a while after that that most production had stopped, granted, but the long term items like trail mix - easily stored, easily eaten - had almost always disappeared as soon as it was put on the shelf.

"Black market," said Malfoy, and Harry honestly couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

"What is it that you've got then?"

"Jerky."

They ate in silence for a moment - and for once it was a peaceful silence, not a deadly one or a lonely but just an _eating silence _- and then Malfoy cleared his throat. "Potter - do you really think there might be a cure out there somewhere?"

Harry sighed. He knew he shouldn't have opened his mouth about that. "Malfoy, be realistic. How would have they come up with a cure? This fast? The disease has only been around for, as you said, three years or so. They didn't come up with a cure for the flu for - generations. It just doesn't make sense."

"But -" and then Malfoy fell silent, shoulders tense; his face was cast in deep shadows from the flames and he looked years older than he actually was. "Why would goblins lie to you?"

"Why would goblins know in the first place?" challenged Harry. "And if they did know, why would they tell us? Goblins are probably happy that most wizards have lost their magic."

Malfoy scowled; he didn't want to admit that what Harry was saying made sense. "But shouldn't we at least _check it out_? I mean, what else are we doing? You're doing _shit_, Potter, just walking around waving guns at people!"

"Saving your life," pointed out Harry.

"How far away can it really be?" asked Malfoy desperately. Reaching for straws. Harry wondered again what had happened to him since the war started. "A couple of days?"

"Weeks, more likely. We're on foot and we have no idea where it actually is."

"We're not doing anything else. Might as well walk that way and if we hear anything else about it then - then, fuck, we'll stop. If you have a better suggestion, I'd like to hear it."

But the problem was, Harry didn't, he could barely even stand to think about what he was going to do _tomorrow _much less create long term plans and for a second his mind flitted to the unbearable thought of who usually made the plans, who normally was the clever one in the group - and then thankfully his mind shut down and after a few more moments of silence, Malfoy's smugness was almost palpable, and, for that matter, almost welcome.

"Guess not," he said. "So Cura it is. Say - are you finished with that trail mix?"

* * *

When he woke up, gasping, it was because of the torrential downpour happening right on top of him.

It was also because of Malfoy screaming profanities from somewhere above him.

"_Fuck_!"

Since the war had started - and maybe even before that, really - there had been no slow awakenings for Harry Potter. They were all the same - gasping awake, jerking upright, covered in sweat, searching wildly for a wand that no longer existed. This happened nearly every day, without fail, and it happened now as well, sending his heart pounding into a sprint as the rain soaked into his travel-worn clothes. He glanced around and then jammed his glasses on his face, looking for Malfoy - and then pushing his sopping wet hair out of his eyes as he realized Malfoy was stringing a tarp up amongst the branches above.

Which, he supposed, justified the screaming of profanities.

Harry just sat there for a moment, watching as Malfoy moved with practiced ease, a strong determination that had never been present at school. He tied the end of the tarp to one branch, tugging on it to make sure it was tight, and then agilely climbed through the branches with the other end, running like a squirrel till he was a little past where Harry lay.

His concentration was mesmerizing in a way, and Harry simply sat and watched him, watched his ghostly white hands glisten in the rain as they worked, watched as he paused to swipe at the blond hair dripping into his eyes. Lightning splintered the sky in two and Malfoy became nothing but a shadow against the tree for a moment as Harry's pupils contracted sharply and then shrank back down again as thunder rolled in the distance.

He was finishing it up at this point - scurrying nimbly along the same branch to where it was thinner and he was nearly dangling fifteen feet above the ground - tying the end of the tarp and then almost sliding back to the trunk. Harry wanted to move - offer his help, at the very least - but Malfoy didn't notice he was even awake, didn't look as though he wanted assistance.

Harry wondered just how long it had been just Malfoy and his dog.

Speaking of - Harry looked around for the crup, squinting in the darkness until he spotted the brown body up against the tree, its paws on the trunk as it barked encouragement up at its owner.

Harry frowned.

He missed Fitz, achingly so, after being so accustomed to his travel partner and all his little ways - but he couldn't deny that Malfoy knew what he was doing. The tarp covered their little area well and despite the fact that Harry was still soaked to the bone, he slowly laid back down, turning on his side and staring off into the wet darkness.

Malfoy was lonely.

Even if he didn't entirely act so - even if he still let off biting comments and sneered and walked around as though he owned half the world - Harry knew he was lonely.

Hadn't even bothered to wake Harry up to tie down a tarp in the middle of a sodding hurricane.

Harry brought his hands up to his chest, curling his feet upward slightly as he huddled under his wet blanket.

Lonely Malfoy and his lonely dog.

He did not fall back asleep for a long time as the thunder rolled and the lightning cracked.

* * *

The second time Harry woke, it was morning and someone was humming.

_Malfoy _was humming.

Slowly, Harry twisted in his awkward position, all his clothes dry and stiff against his skin and rubbing uncomfortably in certain areas, his blanket a tangled mess against his lower half. He peered up, sleepily rubbing at his eyes - his glasses had fallen off sometime after he'd fallen asleep again - and stared blankly at the blurry figure of Draco Malfoy sitting in front of a merry fire, holding a pot and fucking _humming_. Salazar sat a few feet behind him, tail up and wagging.

"Malfoy," he said to get his attention because he honestly couldn't think of anything else to say.

Malfoy looked up and stopped humming. "Finally. You sleep like a fucking log, Potter. Been up for hours."

Harry scrabbled for his glasses and finally pulled them on, blinking for a moment before sliding his eyes up to the tarp over his head, staring at it silently as Malfoy said, "Oh yeah - big thanks for helping on that, had to wake up in the middle of the bloody night to do it all by myself. Fat lot of help you are, Potter."

"Could've woken me up," Harry murmured, his voice rough with sleep as he finally looked back down at Malfoy. Why _hadn't_ Malfoy woken him up, really, if he was going to complain about it the next day? Blatantly, he chose to ignore the fact that he'd woken up on his own and simply watched Malfoy. It was Malfoy's fault for not asking for help, really.

The man didn't seem to notice Harry's pensive stare. "Are you just going to sit there? I'm making tea."

"Tea," repeated Harry. "You're making tea? You're using up the three bottles of water you have on tea."

"Of course not," sneered Malfoy immediately. "You think I've survived this long by wasting bottled water? I used the tarp."

"The ta-" and then Harry noticed something he hadn't before, the way the tarp angled sharply down and was gathered together at the tree - and the area of branches where the pot Malfoy was currently holding had clearly rested during the storm, allowing the water off the tarp to gather neatly in a way Harry had never once thought of. He looked at Malfoy, at his rolled up shirt sleeves barring white forearms and the fucking Dark Mark on his left arm, at the tattered robe hanging behind him on a low dipping branch, at the dirt in his hair and the bags under his eyes. "That's really clever," he finally said, swallowing hard. "I've never - thought of doing that."

Malfoy's eyes were cast low, on the fire. "Someone taught it to me a long time ago."

"Malfoy..." And then Harry's breath caught in his throat because there was something else on Malfoy's forearms that he hadn't noticed there before - a marking on the inside of his right wrist, a marking Harry knew and hated, a marking that made revulsion curl in his stomach. He stopped, staring at it, and then forced himself to look away before Malfoy could see him.

"What? What is it?"

He closed his eyes. "We're going to find fucking Cura, okay? Or at least find someone else that can confirm if it even exists."

A long pause and then: "Really? Potter, really? Don't fuck around."

"I'm not fucking around."

He opened in his eyes in time to see Malfoy exhale deeply, a sound of great relief and something else. It took Harry a moment to place it and when he did, he blinked hard, unable to believe his own eyes at the genuine smile that curved Malfoy's lips. Happiness. "We probably won't find anything," he warned.

"I know."

"It's most likely a rumor. The goblins were most likely lying."

"I know."

"I just don't want you to be disappointed when we don't find anything," Harry insisted, unsure of why he couldn't stop talking.

But Malfoy didn't looked affected in the least. "I know," he said a third time. His smile hadn't faded and he looked over, reaching out to Salazar and stroking him affectionately. "I know. Want some tea, Potter?"

Merlin, Harry had a bad feeling about this. But he didn't speak again - didn't speak for a long time after that, just drank the tea Malfoy made him and sat with his knees drawn to his chest, expression dark and heart heavy and unable to figure out a single damn emotion rolling around in his stomach.

* * *

**a/n: **see? I told you. No answers whatsoever. Just a crabby Harry Potter and a confusing Draco Malfoy. Hopefully next chapter will reveal some of what happened; who knows. Please leave a review; feedback is lovely!

- C.


End file.
